Introducing a powerful, deep, and intriguing story about a single man, Dondre Johnson, who finally meets his spiritual 💕 LOVE after ten years of searching online for the perfect wife, he finally embarks on this new love, Ms. Shakirah Percy from Atlanta, GA.
They both endure a long, passionate, stay together that they never want to end. However, Ms. Percy has an embarrassing secret that she has been keeping to herself for years, which once Dondre finds out Percy's secret, it makes him fall deeper in love with her because he has a powerful revelation from God that she is "his rib", meaning they're a match-made in Heaven, so she was selected for him by God.
This story has laughter, charm, and a positive and a powerful ending. What the Heavens have brought together, let No Man break Asunder....
NONE ASUNDER
Dondre Johnson had learned to tell stories with his hands more than his mouth. He worked as a craftsman of old things—fading heirloom clocks and weathered wooden chests that held the scent of cedar and yesterday. It wasn’t romance that kept him sleepless at night, but a stubborn ache for something he hadn’t quite named. Ten years of online searching had gifted him a dozen good conversations, a handful of honest friendships, and a library of profile bios that all sounded like someone else’s version of him. Yet the screen remained a glass window he could look through, but not quite step through.
In Atlanta, Georgia, a city of thunderous summer nights and coffee that tasted like possibility, Dondre’s routine began to loosen its grip when a new message arrived in his inbox at the exact moment the sun dipped behind the high rises, painting the sky in a deep peach that felt like a blessing. The sender was a woman with a name he’d never imagined would feel so protective on his tongue: Percy. Ms. Percy, she called herself in the message, as if the letters owed her a formality she’d earned by weathering decades of life. She had a smile in her words, a confidence wrapped in kindness, and a tone that said, I’m not here to perform for you, I’m here to tell you the truth—whatever that truth might be.
The exchange started with witty banter about the small, ordinary rituals people fog up with adjectives—how she brewed her coffee, how she kept a small garden of succulents in the corner of a sun-splashed apartment, how she kept a journal with the texture of leaf litter, the pages smelling faintly of cedar and rain. She wrote with the elegance of someone who’d learned to listen to silence as a friend, and Dondre found himself answering not with quick replies but with careful sentences that sounded more forward in his own ears than they did when they left his keyboard.
Percy lived in Atlanta, a city that wore heat like a badge of honor and wore its kindness in small, almost secret ways. She described her life with a warmth that could dispel a winter’s chill: a grandmother who taught her to sew when she was little; a nephew who loved basketball but balked at math, so Percy learned to help him connect numbers to the dramatic beats of a game; a job as a nurse’s aide that kept her knees dusty with the same soil that coaxed flowers to bloom in the community garden behind a shuttered thrift store. She laughed in the way a person laughs when they’ve carried a secret for too long but also when they’ve allowed themselves to imagine an ending with more daylight than fear.
Their conversations grew longer, more intimate, and unaccountably effortless. They spoke of faith not as a doctrine but as a daily practice: how to wake with gratitude even when the stomach rumbles with nerves about the day ahead; how to forgive more quickly than you think is possible; how to listen to the ache in another person’s voice and tell them it’s safe to put their fear down for a while. Dondre felt something loosen in him that hadn’t loosened in years—a feeling not of romance as a fantasy, but of covenant, a sense that the universe had pressed the right keys on a piano he hadn’t known he’d been playing.
The first meeting was set under a wide tree in a public park in East Atlanta, the kind of place where children once claimed summers and strangers found their courage in the shade. Percy arrived with a lightness that belied the gravity of what they were about to do: they would see each other in daylight, after all the messages, after all the gloss of online portraits. She wore a dress that looked like a page from a travel journal—soft blues, sunlit greens, the kind of fabric that seemed to remember every place it had visited. Her hair rested in gentle waves, a testament to a morning you’d wish you could bottle to savor later.
Dondre wore the clothes he usually saved for Sundays, when the city’s noise softened into the background and the world felt a little more like church bells and prayers than a traffic light blinking red. He had thought, in the quiet hours of the morning before the park woke up, about a question that had haunted him for years: What would it mean to finally believe that love could be something you earned in a single conversation rather than hunted for in a series of checklists and “maybes”?
The moment Percy appeared, the air shifted. Not with fireworks, but with a soft, undeniable gravity—the sense that they’d known each other in a different life and had only just remembered how to speak each other’s names again. They walked, not side by side, but as if two notes in the same song, the rhythm finding a way to cradle the other’s breath.
What began as a lunch meeting under the shade of an old oak blossomed into evenings spent in the glow of kitchen lights, the dog-eared pages of old Bibles, and the soft hum of late-night jazz spilling from a neighbor’s apartment. They found humor in the ordinary—the way Percy’s phone signal always failed just as she told a story, the way Dondre’s hands remembered the fingerboard of a violin he’d never learned to play, and the way their conversations could pivot from the mundane to the holy in a breath.
There were conversations about their pasts—Dondre’s decade of online quests, a string of dates that never felt like a meaningful knot, the loneliness of a man who could cross oceans in imagination but never step ashore in his own life. Percy spoke of her family, of a grandmother whose laugh sounded like a bell and whose admonitions to be careful with one’s heart were the kind that kept a person steady through storms. She spoke too of a secret she kept not from him alone, but from the world—one that was not fearsome or scandalous in the conventional sense, but something that could, if revealed, tilt the map of their future.
And then, after a long stretch of days when the sun seemed to tilt closer to touch their faces, Percy’s secret began to reveal itself as a weight borne with a peculiar grace. It was not a mistake or an indiscretion, not a past life’s reckless choices. It was something she had kept because she believed it would reframe her as a person worth loving—something that did not threaten Dondre, but did threaten the quiet cage of perception. The secret was not a scandal of the flesh, but an embarrassment of the spirit—a private habit that, if spoken aloud, could make others see her as less than the whole person she knew herself to be.
One evening, as the city paused to listen to the rain, Percy took a breath that seemed to gather the world’s attention. They sat on the edge of a park bench, their hands entwined with the kind of certainty that felt like a vow even before spoken.
“Dondre,” she began, her voice soft, almost a whisper in the rain. “I’ve carried something with me for years, something I’ve learned to live with rather than face. It isn’t a crime, not a wrongdoing. It’s just… unusual, maybe even a little ridiculous to some people. But I need you to know it, because it’s who I am, and if you’re willing to walk with me, I want you to know all of me.”
Dondre’s heart tightened with that old mixture of fear and tenderness that love sometimes demands. He looked into her eyes—the way they held storms and sun, the way they shimmered with humor’s gift, the way they waited for him to be ready to listen.
“I’m listening,” he said simply, his voice steady as a bell.
Percy hesitated, then spoke the words that would change the contours of their story. Not a crime, not a tragedy, but a private truth that had always lived in the quiet corners of her days:
“I can’t stop attracting certain strangers who see me as a mentor, a guide, or a spiritual sister more than a potential wife. It’s a pattern, and it scares me because I’ve never wanted to mislead you or anyone else. It’s a part of how people respond to me, and I’ve tried to shape it, to hide it, to pretend it doesn’t exist. But it’s there—this unusual dynamic people have with me, and it’s not something I can control.”
She paused, braced for judgment. Dondre’s breath remained even, though his mind spun with questions he didn’t want to voice yet.
“What does this mean for us?” he asked instead, choosing the road of truth over fear.
She laughed softly, the sound a delicate chime against the rain’s drum. “It means I’ve learned to live with a kind of magnetism that isn’t easily understood,” she said. “I don’t always choose the attention. It finds me, and sometimes it derailments the simpler versions of relationships people expect.”
In another moment that felt like quiet thunder, Dondre took her hand and spoke with a tenderness that surprised them both:
“Percy, I have spent ten years praying toward a love I believed would be a storm you couldn’t weather. If you’re the one who’s chosen by God to be my wife, then He’d also know how to temper any storm that comes with you. Your secret isn’t a reason to step back. It’s a reason to step forward differently, together—with faith, with grace, with humor when the rain won’t stop. If this is who you are—flawed and marvelous—then I want you even more, not less.”
It wasn’t just acceptance but a revelation—the realization that love might indeed be a divine alignment, a rib created to fit perfectly, not a random pairing of two people in a crowded world. That night, Dondre felt a warmth that wasn’t merely emotional; it was spiritual, like a doorway opening somewhere inside him to a room he hadn’t known existed.
The weeks that followed confirmed the extraordinary. They traveled across the city on evenings where the sun painted the skyline gold, and on days when the rain drew delicate halos around the streetlights. They cooked together, laughing at each other’s clumsy attempts to recreate dishes from the places they’d visited in memory or in dreams. They discovered a shared love for old gospel harmonies and for the hum of a late-night radio show that spoke of everyday miracles—small kindnesses, the courage to forgive, the stubborn light of hope even after disappointment.
Yet the secret Percy's disclosed remained a gentle, ever-present thread in their days. It wasn’t a barrier but a boundary they learned to honor with tenderness. Dondre’s belief in the sacred design of their union grew from quiet prayer and from the unanticipated ways God spoke through ordinary moments—the sudden memory of a verse he hadn’t recited since youth; the way Percy’s eyes glimmered when she spoke of a future where love was a continual act of service; the sense, in a crowded room, that the right partner can look you in the eye and say, without a word, You are safe.
One such moment unfolded when they attended a community service project in a neighborhood that knew struggle as a constant hum in the background. They painted a wall outside a shelter—two people with paint-streaked hands that smelled faintly of pine and lemon. A young mother and her child paused to watch, their faces tired but hopeful. Percy spoke to the child with a softness that seemed to touch a part of him Dondre hadn’t known existed—the part that believed healing might happen in the spaces between ordinary acts of kindness. The child reached out and touched Percy’s sleeve, and the simple gesture carried the weight of a blessing.
That afternoon, a quiet revelation settled over Dondre as the wall took on a fresh coat of color, bright and enduring. He found himself privately reflecting on a line from the old prayers his grandmother used to read aloud: “What God has joined, let no one sever.” The words felt less like a ritual and more like a compass. He understood then that Percy’s secret was not a flaw to be hidden but a living reminder that love—if it is true—does not erase the person’s raw edges. It polishes them, reveals their true facets, and makes room for the other to be fully seen.
The couple’s joy drew others toward them—friends who admired their honesty, a church community that celebrated their partnership as a testament to patient love, and even a few skeptics who had once believed online love to be a counterfeit coin that never held weight. Dondre and Percy chose to respond to skepticism with the steady light of their daily acts: they remained kind, practical, and steadfast in their commitment to each other. They practiced gratitude in ways that felt almost religious—counting small miracles at the end of each day, not letting the day close without saying something kind to the other, and sharing their worries openly rather than burying them inside.
The divine thread that stitched their story together began to hum with a more unmistakable clarity as the months passed. It wasn’t a blinding thunderclap or a celestial chorus, but a quiet, almost tactile sense that they had been chosen by grace to travel a particular path—one that required trust, courage, and a willingness to be seen as they truly were. Dondre’s heart, long trained to be wary, found in Percy a mirror in which he could see the reflection of a man he hoped to become: one who could hold vulnerability as a strength, who could see love not as a prize but as a partnership rooted in service and reciprocity.
The turning point came one Sunday morning when they visited a small, sunlit chapel on the edge of a park. The service was modest—candles flickering, a choir that sang with a warmth that made the air feel thicker with grace, a pastor who spoke of the “meeting of souls” rather than the “meeting of circumstances.” After the service, the pastor invited them to share their story with the congregation. They stood at the front, hands clasped, the warmth of the room wrapping around them like a soft shawl.
Dondre spoke first, with the careful cadence that had helped him survive ten years of hopeful nights and unanswered questions. He told of his searches, not as a confession of loneliness but as a pilgrimage toward a truth he believed might be found in a shared destiny. He described Percy with the reverence one reserves for a life partner chosen by the divine, insisting that her secret, though it had once seemed like a barrier, was in truth a bridge—an invitation to walk closer, to lean into the mystery together.
Percy’s voice followed, steady and clear, as though she were speaking into a lantern that would light the way for others who were listening. She spoke of the fear she had carried, not about the people who reached for her with their expectations, but about the moment when she believed she might never find someone who could see all of her and still choose to love her. Then she spoke of the God she’d learned to trust—the God who didn’t create perfect people, but who crafted paths that meet at the edge of two imperfect hearts and call it home.
There was a pause—a silence not of doubt, but of awe—before the chapel erupted in gentle, sustained applause. It wasn’t loud or showy, but it felt as if heaven itself had pressed a palm against the ceiling to remind the people there that sometimes the most miraculous things arrive in quiet, enduring forms.
After the service, Percy and Dondre stood outside under a canopy of maple trees as a light rain began to fall. They shared a simple kiss, a promise spoken without words, a seal that their story would outlast whatever storms might come. In that moment, Dondre felt the sense of being finally home—of arriving at a place where his longing had not been a betrayal of himself but a doorway to a greater truth: that love, when aligned with the divine, can feel inevitable, inevitable enough to make you trust your heart even when your faith is tested.
The arc of their days continued to unfold with laughter and light. They built a life that felt both familiar and extraordinary—a mosaic of shared rituals, playful debates about music and weather, and the quiet, steadfast companionship of people who have learned how to guard each other’s souls. They hosted gatherings at their home, inviting friends and strangers alike to observe how a relationship can be both spangled with joyous moments and anchored in ordinary acts of care: making breakfast together on Sunday mornings, borrowing a neighbor’s van to donate furniture to a community center, writing and recording a song together in a borrowed studio just for the two of them, a playful experiment in vulnerability that ended with a chorus and a kiss that tasted like home.
As time stretched out, the couple found themselves teaching and learning in turns. Percy’s clinical patience and Dondre’s practical wisdom offered a companionship that felt greater than the sum of its parts. They learned how to disagree with a tenderness that never surrendered the relationship to anger, how to forgive with a speed that surprised even themselves, and how to celebrate the ordinary miracles of a unified life.
Their love, like a good gospel hymn, rose through the city’s noise and found its echo in the quiet corners of hearts everywhere. People who knew them began to report their own subtle changes: a friend who started therapy to tend to a long-neglected wound; another who reconnected with a parent after years of estrangement; a young couple who, inspired by the couple’s honesty about vulnerability, chose to face their own fears instead of running from them.
The most intimate, transformative moment of all, however, was the realization that Dondre’s ten-year search had not merely ended in a woman who fit him perfectly, but in a calling—an invitation to protect and nurture a life together in a way that honored the divine design of their connection. He began to see his work as a craftsman of everyday miracles: repairing the broken pieces of people’s lives with care, listening with the kind of attentiveness that makes space for fear and for joy to coexist. Percy, too, embraced a role she hadn’t fully recognized for herself—a partner who could anchor, empower, and uplift not just her husband-to-be, but her own community through the strength of their shared faith and the gravity of their love.
In time, the couple discovered that destiny isn’t a lightning bolt but a long, flourished prayer that quietly gathers its answer in the warmth of two people who choose to show up every day. They learned to hold each other’s pasts with tenderness, to celebrate each other’s dreams, and to trust that the life they had built—rooted in forgiveness, humor, and an unwavering belief that they were meant to be together—was exactly the life God had prepared for them.
The ending, as endings often do in the most lasting stories, was not a thunderous crescendo but a gentle, enduring note. They stood on the porch of their home one summer evening, the air alive with cicadas and the distant hum of traffic that sounded almost musical. The sun was setting behind them, painting the sky in layers of coral and lavender. They stood side by side, their shoulders touching, hands intertwined, eyes lifted toward a horizon they knew they would continue to approach with gratitude and wonder.
“Do you think God laughs at us sometimes when we realize we’ve found what we were looking for all along?” Percy asked, the corner of her mouth quirking into a smile that could disarm any doubt.
Dondre turned toward her, his heart full. “I think God smiles when we finally choose to trust the journey instead of counting the miles we’ve walked alone.”
Percy leaned into his embrace, and for a moment the world paused—the city’s hum softened, the trees rustled in what felt like a whispered benediction, and the two of them stood as if in the hush between two breaths of a long, beloved song. In that hush, their secret—and all the fear that had attended it—transformed into a testament: not that they were flawless, but that they were chosen to be together, and that their love would continue to refine and redeem the lives they touched.
The laughter never stopped. It rippled across their days like sunlight on a river. It came in the playful teasing that peppered their home, in the joyful tears they shed when friends came to terms with their happiness, and in the quiet moments when they would sit with a cup of tea, simply grateful for the way one conversation, one online message, one shared look across a crowded room, had redirected the course of two lives toward a destiny nothing had prepared them to hold but everything had promised them they could bear.
If a single thread could be pulled to reveal the tapestry of their fate, it would be this: that in a world where love could be delayed by fear or filtered through the lens of reputation, two people learned to listen to a more ancient voice—the voice that speaks through the heart when it says, You are loved as you are, and you are worthy of a love that sees you fully, even when the world only sees fragments.
And so, in Atlanta, under a sky that held both fiery sunsets and quiet dawns, Dondre Johnson and Ms. Percy found their forever not as a dramatic revelation, but as a continual invitation to be better for one another, to laugh louder, to forgive faster, and to choose, every day, to walk forward together as if heaven had already given its consent through the small, fragile miracles of ordinary life. They were not perfect—no one is—but their love was perfect enough to last, to heal, to bless, and to remind everyone who knew them that sometimes the most powerful stories are the ones that begin with a long search, end with a faithful trust, and bloom in the patient companionship of two souls who finally, absolutely, belong to each other.
Posts
